Teach Me
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Widowed Hermione takes a post at a newly opened wizarding school, expecting eighteen-year-old Scorpius Malfoy will be her most troublesome student. What she doesn't expect is to feel a spark when she meets Draco for the first time since Hogwart's, or that both Malfoys would complicate her life-and her heart-quite so much. A dark, erotic tale of romantic drama.
1. Blonde-haired Banes of Her Existence

**My other current **_**HP** _**Fanfictions:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [One-Shot, Lemon, on AFF. Net & Ao3])

_Distractions _(Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP, _only_ on AFF. Net])_,_

**NEW! **_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP,_ only _on AFF. Net]),

_Nights at Malfoy Manor _(Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione)

_The Scavengers _(Dramione [AU]),

_Silver Blood _(Dramione/Harmione [DARK fic])

* * *

**NOTES:**

**1. Hermione goes by her maiden name, there is an in-story reason for this.  
**

**2. The Dumbledore Institute is a very specific facility, offering scholastic redemption to those who completed their term at Hogwarts with less-than-stellar grades.**

**3. As stated in the summary, this is a _dark _romantic ****(yes, and erotic) **drama, as such it may explore aspects of human emotion which may make some readers uncomfortable.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no money off this story.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

Blonde-haired Banes of Her Existence

Hermione held in another exasperated sigh as she waved her wand, directing the chalk to write an incantation on the board. She could _feel_ Scorpius Malfoy's gaze on her. Not on the words flowing out—where his attention _should_ be, no—on _her._

She flicked an impatient glance toward her shoulder, not really wanting to turn around to address the young man. Unsettling, really, how very much he resembled his father during their last days at Hogwart's.

Equally unsettling was her certainty that the direction of the younger Malfoy's gaze should make her wish The Dumbledore Institute for the Continuing Education of Witches and Wizards had a much more Hogwarts-like dress code—but, no, Harry _had_ to insist that Dumbledore wouldn't have cared for any level of pomp and circumstance. A proper dress code at all, for teachers and students, alike, might've kept her from dressing quite so casually. Let this be the last time she wore jeans to work.

Hell, let this be the last time she didn't wear full robes.

* * *

Scorpius waited patiently for her to turn to face him, his gaze tracing her curves. He knew she felt the weight of his stare, he could tell from the sudden change in her posture. That subtle stiffening of her spine—a stance most people affected when they felt someone watching them—spoke volumes.

Each day he sat in her class he heard his father's words in his head. How curious he always found it that when Draco Malfoy groused over his time at Hogwarts, he seemed to spend extra effort complaining about Hermione Granger. Strangely, Scorpius recalled a few times seeing her, himself, at Platform 9 and 3/4's during his own Hogwart's years and thinking she could've passed for a Seventh Year student. She'd not changed much at all since then, making him wonder—with those wide, expressive brown eyes, pretty, though small, mouth, and wild golden-brown hair, always tied back in deliciously sloppy buns these days—if his father's prolonged rants about her truly had anything to do with her insufferable know-it-all tendencies, or something . . . _else_.

Recently Scorpius had decided he'd had enough of his father's miserable solitude and resolved to do something about it. Now, if only she'd finally cooperate and get angry with him, as he intended. Thus far, however, she'd made a practiced art of ignoring him.

* * *

"What is important about the incantation I've written on the board?" Hoping to call him out, and refocus his _extremely_ wayward attention, Hermione added, "Mr. Malfoy?"

Resounding silence was the answer he granted her. Scowling, she tried to quell her irritation, instead directing the chalk to scrawl more detailed questions on the board.

Did he have any idea how easily his smarmy attitude conjured inflammatory memories of classroom rows between herself and his father? She forced down a gulp of anger before speaking.

"Mr. _Malfoy_?"

* * *

Her voice was shrill in a way the class hadn't heard since Seamus Finnigan's daughter set her desk aflame. Scorpius continued to hold his tongue. This was the most responsive he'd seen her; perhaps she'd at last had enough of his nonsense.

Dark brows arching beneath his pale-gold hair, he pointedly went on following the press of rounded flesh against denim with his eyes. Certainly he was doing this for his father's benefit, but why shouldn't he at least make the task enjoyable for himself?

He ignored the sudden sense of tension rippling through the room as the professor finally pivoted on her heel to face the class. Rather than lifting his gaze, he let himself be fascinated with the way those rough, muggle women's trousers appeared to hug the wearer's . . . feminine bits. Really, the creator of such attire should be commended.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Hermione had all she could do not to stamp her foot as she hissed his name.

_Good girl, _he thought in relief, hiding a smirk. Grey eyes raised in slow, drowsy blinks to look up at her. "Yes, professor?"

"Are you paying attention?" She barely kept the suspicious, pinched expression off her face.

He flashed a grin. "Of course I am."

"So what can you tell us about this incantation?"

Scorpius' grin faded suddenly, a deceptively innocent look overtaking his features. "Oh, you mean to the lesson? Sorry, no."

She tapped her wand over her shoulder and the chalk dropped instantly, hitting the tray beneath the board with such force that the fragile writing implement cracked into several pieces. "Then what, exactly, _are_you paying attention to, may I ask?"

Tipping his head to one side, he allowed his gaze to move over her in an unhurried, head-to-toe flick, before once more meeting her eyes as his grin returned. "Something _infinitely_ more interesting."

He felt the collective grimace of his classmates as the professor set her jaw. Though often a pleasant woman, Professor Granger's temper was legendary throughout Wizarding Britain. They all likely thought he had a death wish. What he had was curiosity as to whether the wash of red now tinting her cheeks was a sign of anger or embarrassment.

Scorpius puzzled over this observation in a corner of his mind. She was the same age as his father, which made her . . . forty-three? Forty-four? To think that a woman her age could blush so easily was oddly endearing in his eyes.

"Class is dismissed," she said quietly, her tone cold and collected in a way that he'd probably dread . . . if it didn't play right into his plans, of course. "Mr. Malfoy, my office. Now!"

He offered a haughty, unaffected grin in response. The brief flare of temper—the lids of her already narrowed eyes squeezing tighter, still, for barely a second—was not missed by him.

"You should know you look exactly like your father when you make that face, and testing my patience _never_ ended well for him," she warned as she stormed to the classroom door, appearing uncaring as to whether he followed or not.

Sighing, he reminded himself he had to put on a show, or this would never work. Scorpius peeled his lanky frame out of his chair and stuffed his fists into the pockets of his trousers as he dragged his feet to trail after her.

As they walked he glanced about the corridor. The other students and faculty who caught his gaze as Professor Granger led him to her office spared him pitying looks. Their reactions gave him pause—precisely how terrible _was_ her temper?

She jammed her key into the lock, wrenching the knob and forcing the door to swing wide open.

"You seem flustered, professor. What's wrong? I thought women your age were supposed to enjoy being objectified by younger men."

Hermione bit deep into her lip, wishing she could simply turn around and slap him. Stepping aside, she swept an arm out for him to enter the room.

He merely stared at her, one eyebrow raised. "Whatever happened to ladies first?"

Exhaling hard through her nostrils, she glared back at him. "Scorpius Malfoy, get in that room!"

Shaking his head, he hid another grin as he sauntered inside and took a seat in one of the cushy armchairs that faced her desk. His gaze touched on various things decorating the walls and peeking out from shelves as he puzzled over her numerous muggle knick-knacks.

Hermione drew a long, heavy sigh as she shut the door and crossed the room. _Remain calm, you are an authority figure. You _cannot_ hex a student simply for being an arse. _Though she did secretly relish the time that Barty Crouch, Jr.—masquerading as a teacher— had transfigured the elder Malfoy into a ferret.

"I'm curious, Mr. Malfoy," she began, reigning in her temper as she stepped around her desk, but didn't sit down, instead continuing to a cage set beside the window. "Is your problem with me that I'm a filthy mudblood?"

Scorpius blinked in confusion, suddenly sitting up a bit straighter—even after all of his father's tirades about the past and the many awful things she and his father had the habit of saying to one another, he still hadn't been prepared to hear _that_ term fall from _her_ lips. "What?"

She opened the cage door, releasing a barn owl. The creature obediently flew to her desk and perched neatly atop a stack of books on one corner. Snatching up her quill and a roll of parchment, she finally took her seat.

Her gaze fixed on the words she wrote rather than on him as she elaborated, "I've discussed this matter with Professors Lovegood and Zabini, and it seems that I am the only teacher for whom you put on this difficult-act. Professor Lovegood is a pureblood, and Professor Zabini—forgetting that he is a friend of your father's—is _also _a pureblood. Therefore, I am forced to assume your lack of respect toward me is a reflection of the Malfoys' sunshine-and-daisies view on muggle-borns."

His brow furrowed, his gaze darting about as his posture slumped. "Well, no professor. That's actually got nothing to do with—"

"I'd figured your father had long ago learned the error of viewing things through your _grandfather_'s eyes, but I only helped save the entire Wizarding world from a terrible fate before I'd even graduated Hogwart's, what do I know?"

The harsh tap of the quill against the parchment as she dotted the _I_ in her signature seemed to reverberate through the momentary silence of the room. "Also never would have thought sending an owl to Malfoy Manor—_or_ meeting with your father—would solve a problem, yet here I am," she said in a seething whisper as she sealed the parchment and held it out for the owl to take.

_Finally, _Scorpius thought, putting effort into keeping his expression from brightening as he sprang forward in the armchair, eyes wide in feigned disbelief. "You didn't actually just request a parent-teacher conference."

"_Actually_ I did," she replied, propping an elbow on her desk to rest her chin against the heel of her palm as the owl dove out the window. "As I recall, the only person your father always heeded was _his_ father. That's one Malfoy tradition I hope stands the test of time."

"Professor you can't be serious," he said, his tone indignant. She'd done exactly as he'd hoped, but he knew if he suddenly dropped the act, she'd realize something was amiss. "Tattling on me to my father? Honestly, I'm a grown man."

Despite her determination to remain professional, Hermione couldn't help scoffing, "You are _not_ a grown man." Though, for a reason she didn't understand, she found she had to drop her gaze from his as she spoke those words.

When she returned her attention to his face, he arched a brow. "I beg to differ."

Her hand dropped to the desktop as she gaped at him—she refused to acknowledge what he implied. "Perhaps if you chose to _act_ like a grown man, I wouldn't have to treat you like some First Year."

"Merlin's Beard, it's like you're afraid of men looking at you," he muttered, barely aware he'd spoken the observation aloud.

"Pardon me?"

Scorpius knew he shouldn't have said that, knew she didn't understand what he meant, not because she was incapable, but because she chose not to. It dawned on him that he should take the opportunity to excuse himself from the room in a disrespectful, rebellious huff. But deliberately misunderstanding him didn't stop her from from getting angry, and that flare of red was blooming in her cheeks again as her little mouth pulled into a grim line.

Oh, well, he could hardly stop sassing her _now_, could he?

Placing his elbows on the armrests, he clasped his hands before him as he leaned forward in his seat. "You heard me, professor. I think you are afraid of _male_ attention."

Hermione withdrew, as though he'd bitten her. "Mr. Malfoy, this is quite an inappropriate conversa—"

"Perhaps it's something to do with being widowed so young," he mused, yet the moment the words left his lips, he realized he'd finally stepped _too_ far over the line.

Her eyes flashed wide as her mouth fell open. After a moment of strained quiet, she managed to say, "Such matters are _none_ of your concern, Mr. Malfoy. I'll thank you to take your leave now!"

Despite the front she put up, Scorpius saw more than anger in her expression. Sparkling glimmers winked from the corners of her eyes, hinting at tears. Could the wound still really be so raw after all this time that a mere mention made her want to cry?

His face crumbled—he'd not intended to actually hurt her. "Professor Granger, I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Enough!" Hermione snapped, forcing a gulp down her throat.

Scorpius fell silent, blinking as he watched her face.

There was something in the way he was looking at her; it reminded her of his father. Draco had once looked at her that very same way—her injury had been of quite a different sort, then. Damn, she barely thought about Draco Malfoy since finishing Hogwart's; why did he so easily coming to mind, lately? That was probably nothing more than the effect of Scorpius' _remarkable_ resemblance to him.

Platinum hair and grey eyes apparently came part-and-parcel with the ability to get under her skin.

The owl returned, dropping a correspondence in front of her before retreating to its cage. Grateful for the distraction, she turned it over to see that Draco had written his answer on the original parchment she'd sent out. That figured; he probably didn't want anything in his house that had been handled by a mudblood.

She offered Scorpius a mirthless smile. "When I speak with your father _tomorrow_, I'll be sure to mention your inability to keep your insensitive observations to yourself. I'm sure he'll quite like that, he was once the same way."

He didn't know what to make of the moment that had just passed. What was wrong with him? He was delighted his plan was working, yet . . . . What the hell was he thinking by taking this discussion down such a serious road? He'd only wanted to tease her a bit longer, to see if he could get more than a mere tinge of red coloring her cheeks.

Frowning, he decided to reroute, to veer back to his lighthearted, if mildly chauvinistic, teasing. "I really only meant that you should be used to men's eyes following you by now."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I believe I said we're done here, Mr. Malfoy."

Grey eyes rolled as the young man shrugged. "Oh, c'mon, you have _got_ to know what you look like."

That bloom of color he'd been aiming for flooded her face.

"I most certainly do not have to _know_ any such thing. Now, will you please—" A knock at the door cut her words short. "Come in," she hollered, her hands clenching into fists on the desktop.

Rose's sleek ginger head poked through the door. "Mum, why are you—" dark eyes, like her mother's, landed on Scorpius, who in turn gave a short wave as he flashed his usual charming grin.

The young woman stepped inside, smiling brightly. "Ah, hear my mother shouting, find a Malfoy in the room. Should've guessed."

"Nice to see you, too, Rose," he said, feigning a wounded tone.

Hermione glanced at the wall clock. "Oh, damn. I'm sorry. I know I was supposed to meet you." She warily eyed Scorpius as she stood and rounded her desk. "I'm just going to . . . go freshen up, and then we can leave."

She turned so fast to fix her gaze on Scorpius that he gave a start. "And I expect _you_ gone when I return."

After her mother disappeared into her office's bathroom, Rose spun to face Scorpius. "You heard her."

Heaving a sigh, he pushed out of the chair. "You know, you look a _lot_ like your mother."

Her eyebrows drew together as she watched him stroll to the door. "What of it?"

"Nothing, just an observation," he said, shrugging as he finally stepped from the room.

While she waited for her mother to return, she couldn't abate her curiosity, and so occupied herself with idly flicking through items on the desk. As expected of the famous Hermione Granger's daughter, when her nose wasn't stuck in a book, it was in other people's business. The parchment caught her attention and she scooped it up, eyebrows shooting into her bangs as she read the messages.

"Haven't I warned you about snooping?"

Her mother's voice would have made her jump, had she not expected she'd be caught, anyway. "Sorry, terrible habit, I know. I suspect its hereditary."

"Mm-hmm."

Rose set the parchment back down and joined Hermione at the door, linking her arm through her mother's as they walked out of the room. "So . . . meeting with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione's head fell back as she groaned, dropping any professional demeanor now that she was in her daughter's comforting presence. "Don't remind me. I'll have to deal with two Malfoys in one day."

"I'm sorry, mother. Catastrophes strike everyone's life at some point."

"Rose?"

"Hmm?" Rose was unaccustomed to her mother being distracted, realizing she had to tug the other woman's arm to lead her to the cafe across the street from the Dumbledore Institute.

"Am . . . am I still . . . pretty?" Hearing the awkward phrasing fall from her own lips, Hermione rushed on, "I mean, for a woman my age?"

Turning on a heel, Rose peered into Hermione's face as though the older witch had sprouted an eye in the center of her forehead. "Are you _mad_? If I have to hear one more person ask if you're my sister—and_genuinely_ mean it, not in that fake-flattery way the muggles do—I may have to give someone a smack."

Hermione couldn't help laughing. This was what she needed, Rose always knew how to make her smile, no matter how miserable she felt. "Thank you, but that's not what I asked."

Taking a seat at one of the outdoor tables, Rose waited until her mother sat, as well, before responding. "Yes. You're pretty, mum; beautiful, in fact. You always have been. But . . . what's brought this on?"

"Well, I . . . " Hermione offered a thoughtful pout, what _had_ brought this on? _Oh, c'mon, you have got to know what you look like_. She shook her head, banishing Scorpius Malfoy's voice as quickly as it appeared. No, this couldn't have anything to do with the things he'd said, he'd only been trying to bother her, after all. "I don't know, really. I suppose I was just—"

"Merlin's Beard, has it finally happened?"

Brown eyes widening, Hermione asked, "Has _what_ finally happened?"

Rose smiled brightly, looking rather more like a proud parent than a nosy daughter, Hermione thought."You've got your eye on someone!"

Giving a start, Hermione snatched up menu from the end of the table and flipped it open, locking her gaze on the list of appetizers. "Rose Weasley, I most certainly do not!"

Sighing, Rose tapped a fingertip against the menu until Hermione looked up at her. "It's okay, really. It's been long enough, don't you think?"

Hermione reached out, clasping her daughter's hand in her own as she smiled, small, but warm. "I don't have my eye on anyone. I was just wondering, that's all, really."

"Well," Rose began, smiling back as she grabbed a menu for herself with her free hand, "just . . . know that when it _does_ happen, it'll be okay with us."

Eyebrows shooting up, Hermione echoed, "_Us_? So you and Hugo have discussed your mother's love life?"

Clearing her throat, Rose slid her hand out from beneath Hermione's and pointedly dropped her gaze to the menu. "Hugo, and me, and . . . Uncle Harry."

"Harry?" Hermione's face fell.

"Aunt Ginny."

Dropping her face into her hands, Hermione muttered, "My whole family talking about me, without me there. That's just . . . brilliant."

Rose bit her lip, weighing her words since her previous ones were so poorly chosen. "It wasn't like that. We just . . . we just all feel maybe you should find someone who will make you happy. Dad would understand."

Hermione waited for Rose to lift her gaze before speaking, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat. "Thank you."

Rose's expression brightened.

Returning her attention to the menu, Hermione muttered, "Still haven't got my eye on anyone."

"Damn!"

* * *

Sighing, Draco rubbed his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. "Do you want to tell me what possessed you to attempt chatting up your _teacher_?"

Scorpius chuckled, his expression bright. "Chatting up? Is that what she wrote?"

Draco shot out of his seat, venom in his voice. "Do you think this is funny?"

Despite their similar stature, Scorpius shrank back in the face of his father's anger. "In a way . . . ."

"In a way?" Draco thundered, before pausing to take a breath. Rolling his eyes he asked, "Do you have any comprehension of how awkward this little _conference_ will be?"

Seeing his father furious made Scorpius want to tell the truth, yet he often doubted Draco realized his own feelings. If he didn't continue his ruse, father would simply call off the meeting . . . and then continue to mope and grouse for eternity.

"Is this about your mother?"

"What?" Scorpius nearly fell down where he stood. Where had that question come from?

"You're getting back at me for the divorce, or some other such bizarre muggle-psychology nonsense?"

Forcing a sigh, Scorpius shook his head. "No, father, I've been over that for years now."

The admittance only exasperated Draco further. Obviously his son wanted to make his life miserable for no reason, whatsoever, then. Scorpius was very much how he often imagined he'd have been, had the War—and everything that came with it—not left such a dark stain on him. Perhaps he should count his blessings, then, that there'd been no beautiful, young-looking teachers at Hogwart's. "Then why?"

"I don't really—"

"You know better. You're a grown man, Scorpius!"

Scorpius held up a finger, "I said that _very_ same thing to Professor Granger."

"Along with a few other choice phrases, apparently."

Sighing, Scorpius shrugged. "She's an attractive woman, I may have mentioned it . . . ad nauseum."

Draco slumped back into the desk-chair as he slapped a hand against his forehead. "Go to your room."

Dark eyebrows inching upward, Scorpius said, "Grown man, remember?"

Dropping his hand, Draco fixed his son with a lethal glare.

Backpedaling instantly, Scorpius put up his arms in surrender. "All right, I'm going."

Once Scorpius was gone, Draco lowered his gaze, staring daggers at the floor. Meeting with Granger to discuss inappropriate conduct, of all things. Life certainly had a terrible sense of humor. The last thing he wanted was to have to speak with that insufferable, know-it-all mudblood.

And for Merlin's sake, why was he suddenly inspecting his own reflection in the finely polished floor tiles?

* * *

Hermione sniffled, her fingers trailing over the moving faces in the articles. She'd obsessively saved every paper from their infamous _Eighth Year_ at Hogwarts—the only class, ever, to celebrate their eighteenth birthdays while still enrolled at Hogwart's.

As she'd opened the trunk, she'd deliberately ignored the divorce papers, drafted, yet unsigned as they were. Watching the image of Ron laughing with Harry, she couldn't help but wonder . . . if he'd lived, if they'd tried again, if they'd tried _harder_, could they have made it work?

She shook her head. It didn't matter, did it? Three years she'd spent wondering, torturing herself over those what-ifs. "But it's a question that never can be answered, isn't it," she murmured, a sad little smile playing on her lips.

A pale, scowling face in the background caught her eye. Draco Malfoy. "Hmph," she uttered the sound before taking another sip of muggle-rum. "The resemblance really is uncanny."

Her mouth pulled to one side as she pointed at his image. "You know, I actually once thought you were cute."

Hearing her own words, Hermione looked into her glass and then at the bottle. _Clearly_ she'd had too much, already. She carefully recapped the bottle and stood, leaving the papers where they lay as she turned on an unsteady heel and headed off to bed.

* * *

_Her breath caught in her throat as arms circled her. This wasn't the time or place for such things—honestly, she was in front of the class, writing incantations on the board!_

_"You can't—"_

_"Shh," was all he said in response before pressing a long, hungry kiss to the side of her throat._

_Warmth shot through her as her head fell back against his shoulder. She draped her arms lightly over his, unable . . . no, that wasn't correct . . . _unwilling_ to stop his hands from dipping beneath her clothes._

_His fingers slid up, into her bra, to cup her breast, circling the pad of his thumb over her nipple. His other hand, already tight against her in the unforgiving space of her jeans, slipped roughly between her thighs._

_She trembled as his fingers worked her in a rapid, uneven rhythm. Moaning softly, she sank her teeth into her lip as she pressed herself closer to him. The feel of his hardened length pushing back as he moved against her motions sent another shot of delicious warmth through her body._

_He chuckled softly, his pale-gold hair brushing her shoulder as he lapped and nipped at her earlobe. "So wet under my touch," he whispered, his fingers sliding against her faster._

_Dropping her arms from his, she reached back to clamp her hands over his hips, so that she could pull herself more tightly against him each time she rocked back._

_"Mmm." His warm breath whispered over her skin, soft lips brushing her ear as he said, "So _very_ eager. Will you come for me?"_

* * *

Hermione shot up in bed, a hand over her thundering heart as though she'd just experienced the most horrid of nightmares. Breathing heavily, her wide eyes darted about the darkened room.

_No more drinking . . . ever, _ever_, again! _she thought, her inner voice vehement.

"Oh, dear God," she whispered, remembering the most terrifying aspect of what her—wicked, monstrous, horrible—imagination had just shown her. That platinum hair. . . . Yet, that still wasn't the worst thing that she could recall now, as her raging heartbeat slowed and she reluctantly acknowledged the embarrassing dampness between her thighs left in the wake of that . . . _nightmare_.

For a moment, she was positive that had been Draco, but the voice . . . she wasn't certain. It _could_ have been Scorpius. "Hermione, you—you . . . dirty old woman!" she scolded herself for even considering that it could have been the younger Malfoy.

She didn't want to dream about Malfoys, at all. In any context. _Ever_.

She glanced at her clock and groaned, a thick, angry sound of self-loathing as she saw that she would have to wake up in a few minutes, anyway.

"Oh . . . dear _God_," she repeated. She honestly had no idea which Malfoy she'd just dreamed such . . . _awful_ things about. How on earth was she going to face both of them in a matter of hours?

* * *

Fortunately, by the time Scorpius Malfoy strolled into the room, Hermione'd had enough time to talk sense into herself. Alcohol, plus loneliness brought about by her discussion with Rose, combined with Scorpius' teasing comments yesterday had done a number on her subconscious, that was all.

Perhaps it was the hope that her problems with him were as good as dealt with that stymied her mind's attempts to wander toward that sinful dream. Or perhaps her brain was simply so embarrassed to have imagined such a thing that it refused to think on it. Whatever the case, she was grateful she'd regained her ability to ignore his presence.

And then class, and her work day, drew to a close. As she turned away from erasing the board, she found Scorpius placing a scroll on her desk.

She arched a brow. "What's this?"

He met her gaze, shrugging. "The answers to the questions you wrote on the board yesterday."

Doubtful, Hermione snatched up the scroll and unfurled it. There they were, word-for-word. She repressed a smile.

Again he shrugged. "I said I was paying attention."

"So you did," she replied, setting the scroll back on her desk. The action knocked a quill to the floor.

Scorpius retrieved it and held the quill out her. As she took it, the tips of her fingers accidentally brushed his.

He refused to believe he saw something flicker in the depths of her brown eyes as she pulled her hand away from his to place the quill back upon the desk.

She dropped her gaze, clearing her throat as she tidied her papers. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Um, yeah," was all he said, wondering over just what he'd seen as he turned and left the room.

Hermione dropped her face into her hands. What the _hell_ was wrong with her?

"Hermione?" Luna's soft, tinkly voice broke into Hermione's moment of self-pity.

"Hmm?"

"Draco Malfoy's here, I told him to wait in your office. Is that okay?"

Hermione met her friend's concerned gaze with a forced smile. "Fine, that's fine. Thanks."

Luna nodded and disappeared again, though Hermione knew she'd be questioned about whatever had been bothering her the next time they went to lunch together. Maybe by then, she'd have an explanation for her current bout of madness.

Schooling her features, Hermione drew in a few long, calming breaths, before leaving the classroom and heading to her office. She could face Draco Malfoy, no problem. He didn't look like he did when they'd left Hogwarts, everything would be fine.

She stepped inside and closed the door quietly before turning toward her desk.

"Finally, Granger," Draco said, his words a lazy, yet aggravated drawl as he peered at her from around the side of one of the armchairs. "Request a meeting, then leave me waiting? Honestly."

Hermione only stared for a moment. She didn't know what he'd done, but he wasn't balding anymore. The perfect, platinum hair and light, groomed facial hair made him look . . . . _So young, _probably in the same bizarre way that she still looked young.

"Granger," he repeated, his dark brows shooting up into his hair.

"Huh?" She immediately shook her head, willing her legs into motion. "Right, sorry, it's just been a while. I didn't expect to see you looking so . . . ."

"So not-bald," he said, scowling.

She shrugged, as she opted to sit in the armchair across from him, rather than behind the desk. Clearly she simply wanted to get a closer look and didn't want to appear openly rude by leaning across the desk, she told herself. "Well . . . "

"Merlin's Beard," he breathed the words, chuckling in spite of himself. "I'm a wizard, I used a hair tonic. I wish everyone could just get over it, already."

"I thought purebloods had mastered the art of growing old gracefully."

"Growing up having to look at that head of hair my father had and you expect me to accept losing mine _gracefully_?"

This was not the way she'd thought this meeting would start—at all. She'd imagined awkward moments of silence, interspersed with barbed comments. Yet, here she was relaxing, even unable to help herself from smiling as she said, "Your father did have great hair."

Instantly recognizing that she was teasing him, his grey eyes narrowed. "Oh, shut it, Granger. I believe we're here to discuss Scorpius."

Her face fell.

Dark brows arched upward. "That bad?"

"He's just . . . I suppose it's because of how you and I were at Hogwarts, but Scorpius seems to lack any grasp of boundaries. He's been extremely inappropriate with regard to comments he's made to me."

"Yes, that I gathered from your owl yesterday. What else?"

She remembered suddenly the answers Scorpius had turned in. "You know, I think that's it."

Frowning_,_ Draco leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he peered into her face.

Hermione shrank back a bit, forgetting that she was the one in a position of authority in this situation.

"That's it?" He shook his head, "You called me in here just for that? You already stated as much in the message."

Her shoulders slumping, she bit her lip. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd come. I figured the note would be enough and you'd address the problem with Scorpius, and that would be the end of it."

"You're joking."

"How was I to know you'd be suddenly so agreeable?"

Draco's expression darkened. "You're taking a tone with me? You dragged me in here for what turns out to be no reason—"

"There was a reason!" Hermione sat up straight, slipping back into her old, comfortable, role of arguing with Draco Malfoy more easily than she'd have thought possible. "Your son ogling me like a starved werewolf while I'm trying to teach _is_ a reason, Malfoy!"

"A reason of which you'd already made me aware, Granger!" His jaw tightened as he leaned closer, still, getting in her face. "Ogling you? Dear Merlin, woman! What male in his right mind wouldn't?"

"I—" she began railing, until she realized what he'd said. "Was that a compliment?"

Grey eyes rolling upward, he heaved a sigh. "I suppose it was."

Shock rippled through her at the very notion. "_I_ just . . . received a compliment from_ Draco Malfoy_?"

"Well, if you're going to make a fuss about it," he muttered, standing and straightening wrinkles from his dark trousers.

Understanding that he probably wanted to make a hurried exit after such an unprecedented moment, she stood, as well. "Um, I'll walk you out."

His brow furrowed. "Granger, I really don't think that's necessary. The door's right_ there_."

"I was only being polite," she said with a frown as she crossed the room beside him.

He turned to look down at her, his hand gripping the door knob. "I complimented you, you're being polite to me."

Hermione's face scrunched as she realized how odd both of those things were.

"I swear, there must be a cauldron leak somewhere in this building."

She couldn't help a laugh. Yes, clearly Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger being anything other than venomous to one another had to be the fault of spilled potions lacing the air.

"It actually wasn't terrible," he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

"What wasn't?"

Draco shrugged, "This meeting."

"No, I guess it wasn't. Let me get that for you." Unaware of his hand on knob, Hermione reached to open the door for him. Her fingers settled over his and she pulled away, but not before noticing how close he stood.

Her stomach did a giddy flip-flop as he caught her gaze.

"I know how to open a door, Granger," he said quietly.

"Right, of course," she mumbled, unable to look away. "Just . . . like I said, being polite."

There was something very different about the way they were behaving around each other, Draco realized. Perhaps it was that this was their first time talking to one another since Hogwart's, perhaps it was no longer being on opposite sides of a brewing war.

"Polite, again?"

She nodded, sighing as she offered a shrug. She realized how strange that must seem, but she'd expected . . . Hermione wasn't even certain what she expected from this meeting, but it certainly wasn't to feel comfortable around Malfoy.

"Does that mean I should compliment you, again?"

Something about his tone sent a hint of warmth washing through her. "If you like, I mean, I really—"

He cut her off, covering her mouth with his own. But only for a moment; only long enough to dart out his tongue, tasting her lips and drawing the breath from her.

Hermione shuddered, that warmth his voice had started spreading, and pulled back, staring up at him.

Strangely, Draco seemed to collect himself immediately. "We should do this again, some time, Granger."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What, kiss?"

He smirked, looking more and more like the Draco Malfoy she remembered. "I meant talk." Opening the door, he bit his lip before saying, "But . . . yeah, that, too."

Without waiting for her response, he vanished into the corridor.

Hermione made her way back to one of the chairs and fell onto the cushion. Had that really just happened? Had she _really_ just been kissed by Draco Malfoy?

First that weird little moment with Scorpius, now this with Draco? She pressed a hand to her suddenly pounding forehead. Perhaps there _was_ a reason she couldn't recognize the voice of the Malfoy in her dream.


	2. Realizations, Great or Small

**My other current **_**HP** _**Fanfictions:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [One-Shot, Lemon, on AFF. Net & Ao3])

_Distractions _(Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP, _only_ on AFF. Net])_,_

**NEW! **_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP,_ only _on AFF. Net]),

_Nights at Malfoy Manor _(Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione)

_The Scavengers _(Dramione [AU]),

_Silver Blood _(Dramione/Harmione [DARK fic])

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Realizations, Great or Small

Harry coughed, spitting out a mouthful of alcohol. Though not the most pleasant of reactions, the poor old table in their current booth at the Leaky Cauldron had probably seen worse.

Cringing, Hermione reached for a napkin and held it out to him. She couldn't bring herself to look at his face as he snatched the cloth from her hand and wiped his chin.

"Please tell me you're joking," he grumbled before taking another, much longer swig.

She pouted, shaking her head. "Harry, I don't really know how it happened. We were talking and then—"

"And then you had some sort of fit and let a Malfoy kiss you!"

Her shoulders drooped and she sat back, folding her arms under her breasts. "And here I thought maybe you'd be the one person who'd be understanding about this."

His eyebrows shot up. "Underst— ? Why would you think I could understand this? Do you even remember Hogwarts? Or the War?"

"That was a long time ago, Harry," she whispered, her gaze on the tabletop. "It wasn't like I expected it to happen. And I expected you to understand because you're the only person in the world who knows that Ron and I were going to split."

He mirrored her posture, his shoulders slumping. "What's that got to do with this?"

Her gaze leapt about as she answered, "A lot more than I thought, apparently."

Days had passed since that kiss, but she was having trouble forgetting about it. In fact, seeing Scorpius in class—with his face so like his father's—seemed to keep the memory at the front of her thoughts. She also felt as though the young man had slipped back into his habit of ogling her, but she was no longer certain what to make of that.

Quick, every time; he turned his head at just the right moment that she barely saw the flick of those grey eyes on hers. It was shameful that she couldn't simply brush off the look she thought she saw in his eyes. That look was not his father, there was something about the expression that was _solely _Scorpius Malfoy. And she doubted that if he chose to lock eyes she'd be able to look away.

And she was still no closer to figuring out which of the Malfoy men that sordid dream had been about, but she certainly wasn't going to tell Harry _any_ of that.

"The truth is that . . ." she bit her lip as she thought out what she wanted to say. She was about to give voice to something she'd never admitted before, and she wasn't at all sure Harry wanted to hear it. "I think I've been lonely for a very long time now. From even before Ron died."

Harry forced a laugh, shaking his head. "Hermione, you are probably the least lonely person I know. I mean, you're not happy unless you're being left by yourself with a stack of books."

Her eyes drifted closed as she drew a shaky breath. This wasn't just about one silly little kiss, and this wasn't about Malfoy, not really. "I didn't even think about it until Rose said something the other day. About how it would be okay if I moved on, if I found someone."

"Sure, and then you turned around, tripped over Malfoy and thought, 'Hey, he's _someone_!'"

"This isn't about _him_, and _you're_ not listening! And quite frankly, you're being a _really_ rotten friend right now, Harry Potter!"

"I . . . ." Harry's voice died on his lips when she fixed her gaze on his, her dark eyes wounded and watery. He hadn't realized until that moment that she was genuinely upset. He hadn't been able to see beyond his own irritation at Malfoy, held over from so many years ago and ultimately left unresolved.

"You're right," he said with a sigh, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I'll listen."

"This isn't about him," she repeated, her own head shaking as she picked at the cracked wood surface of the table with the edges of her nails. "It's about how I feel. I never acted lonely, because I don't think I realized that I _was_. But then, the other day . . . I don't know. The world is a much different place for us now than it was when we were children, and without the war at our backs, we were just there, talking, and . . . ." She shrugged, nervously licking her lips, "I can't say how it happened, or why, but for those few moments I think I just forgot to be lonely. For a very long time I thought I was supposed to be miserable, I thought maybe that was my punishment for not appreciating my marriage while Ron was still here."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, again shaking his head. Hermione always knew just what to say make him feel as though she'd plucked out his heart and stomped on it—he supposed he should simply be grateful she didn't give Ginny and Lily lessons. "Hermione . . . ."

"I thought I didn't try enough, that _I_ let it all slip away."

Frowning, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had been such a long day, and this conversation just added a few more dragging hours. "I watched you two try to make a go of it for years. You were both exhausted, and I just don't think you had it in you to fight anymore—not just with each other, but for each other." He reached out, covering her hand with his own on the tabletop. "And I think if he'd lived, he would have seen the sense of it and signed those papers."

She nodded, sniffling, but unable to meet his gaze.

"So that's what this was really about then?" He said with a sigh as he let go of her hand and slipped his glasses back into place. "One lip-lock with Malfoy and you stopped torturing yourself for a few minutes?"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "Lip-lock? What are we, still in school?"

He shrugged, pointedly keeping a straight face. "How should I know? You're the one snogging the school bully in a teacher's office."

"Oh, nice," she said, her voice lighter as she tossed a napkin at him.

"All right, so I will just deal with the fact that my best friend has lost her mind, again," he ignored her affronted expression. "So, what happens now with you two?"

She turned her attention to her long-forgotten drink and took the straw between her fingers, pushing half-melted ice cubes around in the glass. "That's the thing, I don't know. Maybe something, maybe I never talk to him again. I haven't the foggiest, but in a strange way, it was nice just to connect to another person as something that wasn't Harry Potter's best friend, or Rose and Hugo's mother . . . Ron Weasley's widow. Professor Granger," she muttered the last one as she shook her head.

"So if you think there's a chance nothing will come of it, why did you tell me?"

"Didn't you hear either one of us, just now? We're _best friends_, Harry—since we were eleven years old, for Heaven's sake! I just wanted it out in the open in case anything did happen. I didn't want to feel like I'm keeping something from you."

Harry nodded before falling silent for a long while. He didn't look at her, keeping his gaze on his hands as he folded them on the table, interlacing his fingers. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but . . . maybe something _should_ come of it."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"I . . ." he still didn't meet her gaze, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. "I may have issues with him that will never be settled, and I get that. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, it might have been nothing—and God knows, I _hope_ nothing comes of it—but, Hermione, if there is even the slightest chance at all that you could be happy, then I think you should find out which it is."

She shrank back, certain she was misunderstanding something. "You're joking."

A self-deprecating grin curved Harry's lips as he shook his head. "I wish I was. Owl him, ask him for a drink or . . . something?"

Leaning forward, she peered into his face for a silent moment. "You're not joking."

Again he shook his head. "I mean it, Hermione. I'd rather you be happy, than not _just_ to spare me some discomfort."

"I thought we were clear that this wasn't about _him._"

Harry shrugged, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. "Maybe it is. My point is, you deserve someone who makes you happy and, as disturbing as it is for me to admit, it sounds like somehow he managed to do that—for a few seconds, anyway."

A weight seemed to lift from her, though she didn't quite understand why, or from where the weight had come. This one, silly little kiss should not be a big deal at all; it was . . . _nothing,_ really, wasn't it? But then, perhaps the freedom to see if it could be anything more was of greater importance to her than she'd let herself consider.

Lips curving into a smile, she managed to catch his gaze. "I can't believe _you're_ the one suggesting this."

"Neither can I." He winked at her, "Just don't expect we'll make room for the Malfoys at Christmas dinner, all right?"

"Funny."

She tried picturing Draco and Scorpius sitting down at the long table with the Potter-Weasley clan and couldn't help a laugh. She ignored that for the briefest second, as she imagined herself seated between the two Malfoys, she wasn't certain which one was which.

* * *

_As he stepped through the doorway, he paused. She hadn't noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to simply watch her. He found it charming in a strange way that despite how adept she was at her magic and how famously skilled with a wand, she chose to erase the chalkboard by hand, as a muggle might._

_She moved across the wall, walking sideways along the length of the board. Her path brought out from behind her desk so that his full view of her was no longer obscured. She was clad in a dark, pleated skirt, matched sweater-vest and a crisp white button-down shirt. In fact, her choice of attire today rather reminded him of a Hogwart's uniform. Well, if one excused the polished, knee-high boots, though they were a_very_ nice touch._

_Stepping just a bit further into the room, he shut the door, only drawing her attention when he clicked the lock into place. She didn't react immediately, though, giving him the impression that she'd heard the noise, but not registered what it was._

_"I'm sorry, I'll be with you in a moment." She glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes widening as she saw him. Setting down the eraser, she turned to face him. "Are you all right?"_

_Stuffing his fists into his pockets, he shrugged and then crossed the room. "Why do you ask?"_

_"Because . . . ." Her voice trailed off as he drew near to her, stopping only when he stood so close that she had to tip back her head to hold his gaze._

_Swallowing hard she tried again. "Because you look . . . troubled."_

_"Maybe I am troubled," he admitted, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "But I think I know how to fix that."_

_She opened her mouth to ask, but he couldn't hold back any longer—not while staring into her eyes like this, nor standing so close that he could smell her perfume. Not when watching her lips part and shiver, ever so slightly, as she tried to form words that just wouldn't come._

_He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close as he brought his mouth crashing down on hers. The pleading whimper that tore out of her throat was the most delicious sound he'd ever heard as he parted her lips with his tongue and plunged inside. Yet it wasn't enough, even as she wound her arms up around his neck to rake her fingers through his hair, and pressed herself even more tightly to him._

_No, even caressing his thrusting tongue with her own and making those sweet little mewling noises as he ground his pelvis against hers wasn't enough. He wanted to show her how much he wanted her, wanted to surprise her with how much he really knew._

_Impressing _her_ was the most important thing in the world at that moment._

_He stepped forward, urging her backward until she bumped the desk. She broke the kiss, letting out a gasp of surprise as he hoisted her up and sat her on edge of the desktop. Whipping the sweater off over her head, he carelessly tossed it aside, aware of the weight of her gaze on him as he reached beneath her skirt to tug aside the elastic edge of her knickers. There was a beautiful, dreamy haze in her eyes as she watched him._

_Holding her gaze, he stroked her. His touch was slow and gentle at first, and then faster, the pressure of his fingertips rising by increments until she writhed against his hand. Her head fell back and he sank his free hand into her hair._

_He lifted her head, forcing her gaze back to his. "I want your eyes on me for _every_ moment of this," he whispered as he slid that hand down to cup her breast, teasingly pinching her nipple through the thin fabrics of her shirt and bra._

_That gorgeous blush flared in her cheeks and she bit her lip as she nodded. Merlin's beard, she was breathtaking__—how did she honestly not know how crazy she made him?_

_He lowered himself to his knees before her, watching her face. Watching her expression, watching her struggle not to look away or close her eyes. With every moan, every soft, shuddering breath her blush seemed to deepen further, still._

_She trembled beneath his working fingers, and she pushed her hips forward, her body tensing.._

_"Oh, no," he said, slowing his strokes, "not yet."_

_Withdrawing his hand__—and delighting in the small sound of disappointment she uttered at the loss of his touch__—he tugged at her knickers and pulled them down her legs, dropping them to the floor. He pressed lightly against the insides of her knees, and she responded eagerly, opening her thighs for him._

_He leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers all the while. Parting her with his fingers, he lapped his tongue over her. She let out a throaty, half-moaned giggle each time he grazed her with the edges of his teeth._

_Her mouth dropped open as he closed his lips around the pulsing little bead of flesh and suckled at her. She sank her fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth more tightly against her even as she fought to keep watching him._

_She began to tense again, the little hiccuping breaths escaping her and the pleading look in those dark eyes told him he had her _so_ close._

_"Scorpius," she whispered, her fingers tightening into fists._

* * *

Scorpius snapped to attention just as Professor Granger faced the class, clapping her hands.

"All right, class dismissed. Have . . ." she paused, smiling awkwardly and cleared her throat, "Everyone have a lovely weekend, I'll see you all on Monday."

As quickly as she spoke, she turned away, gathering up her things.

For a long moment, he could only watch her bumbling movements as she chatted_—_animated, yet silent—with herself; could only listen to the sounds of his classmates shuffling and scrambling around him to leave._  
_

The instant he was certain his path would be clear, he bolted from his seat to charge from the room and down the corridor. He slammed open the door to the restroom and went straight to the sink to splash cold water on his face.

So . . . perhaps he'd let that daydream get a _bit_ far. After all, she wasn't wearing a skirt, rather a pair of simple black leggings, yet her boots and top hadn't been altered by his imagination. But no, his wayward thoughts weren't what troubled him, though he realized they probably should.

What bothered him was that she seemed so distracted, so unlike herself today. Not once had she even acknowledged the way he was looking at her. And he would have noticed—he always noticed. The setting of her jaw as she glanced at him and just as quickly flitted her gaze away, her expression unreadable yet intriguing to him, was usually enough to pull him away from whatever he was imagining.

Yet that look of . . . of he wasn't sure what did not come today. No, he would have noticed. Whatever was going on in her head at the moment left no room for her to pay mind to his nonsense.

Frowning, he switched off the faucet and reached for a paper towel. Why did he even care? He shook his head as he patted his face dry, ignoring the opportunity to look at himself in the mirror. He _didn't_ care, he was curious as to what could turn a woman usually so tethered to reasonable behavior into a scatterbrain.

After tossing the towel into the trash bin, he drew a deep breath and then opened the door. The corridor was quiet—not that he could blame staff and students, alike, for rushing out of a school institution on a gorgeous Friday afternoon—allowing him a sigh of relief as he stepped from the restroom.

Then he saw her at the end of the corridor, perched on a windowsill across from her office. She was staring through the glass pane, still muttering to herself as she clutched a quill and parchment.

He should just leave. The exit was only a few meters away, and she was very clearly preoccupied.

So why did he find himself turning on a heel and heading toward her? He felt certain she didn't even notice him until he was in front of her. "Professor Granger?"

The woman gave a start, looking up into his face as she broke into a small, unsteady smile. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Malfoy, I didn't see you there."

"Yes, I could tell," he said with raised eyebrows. "I didn't mean to bother you, I was only wondering what's wrong."

"Wrong?" She echoed, her own eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Nothing's wrong."

Shoulders drooping, he gestured to a space on the windowsill beside her. Only after she nodded did he turn and lean his hips back against the sill. "You have to know you seemed a bit _off_ today, Professor."

Her brow furrowed as she cringed. "Oh, no. Was it that obvious?"

Scorpius shrugged, looking down the length of the corridor. "I wasn't paying attention today and even _I_ spotted it, so I'm going to go with 'yes'."

She cast him a sidelong glance. "I thought you were _always_ paying attention."

He feigned an insulted expression as he met her gaze. "Oh, what, so now you're the only person allowed to have an off day?"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. For a brief, flickering moment, she forgot to be quite so nervous about what she was thinking of doing.

"It's just . . . ." She sighed and shook her head, not noticing how his posture stiffened a bit at the thought that she was about to open up to him, if only a little. "It's just that I'm about to ask someone something and it could turn out a complete disaster, or could be completely, _madly_ great . . . or end instantly with nothing at all."

"Well, not to be pedantic, but the only way to find out which is to go ahead and ask for whatever it is."

She shot him a withering glare.

He met her hard look with one of mild confusion. "I did preface that with 'not to be pedantic,' didn't I?"

Cracking a half-grin that she simply couldn't help, she nodded. "You did. I know this probably seems absolutely absurd to you—someone my age being all uncertain about something this way."

"Oh, please," he scoffed, grey eyes rolling."Like there's an age restriction on feeling nervous. Everyone worries about something. If you're not careful, you'll get frown lines."

She tried not to smile again. "I already have frown lines, thank you very much."

Once more he scoffed. "Hardly. But seriously, you worry too much you might start looking your age."

Her jaw dropped, but a heartbeat passed before she burst out laughing, unable to hold the scandalized expression. "Scorpius Malfoy, you're terrible."

"Thank you, I try," he quipped, with a bow of his head.

Silence fell between them in the wake of her laughter. Somehow, Scorpius found himself acutely aware of her physical presence beside him; of the warmth of her shoulder close to his. He thought he could feel every breath she drew and expelled. Was she fidgeting because of his nearness, or because of whatever this something was that she had to ask someone?

"It may have been a pedantic point, but it's still true," he said quietly, picking at the cuff of one of his jacket's sleeves to occupy himself as he spoke. "This thing you have to ask someone, just do it. It's the only way to get an answer, after all."

She nodded, her attention fixed on the floor. "I know. I just . . . I'm afraid of the whole 'complete disaster' option I mentioned."

He couldn't help looking at her then, tracing her profile with his gaze. "Disasters aren't _all_ bad. They're usually a lot of fun . . . right before the disaster part kicks in, of course. Doesn't mean the risk's not worth taking."

Again, she nodded, Hopping off the windowsill, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "You're right. I need to just get it over with and deal with whatever the answer is."

The young man only shrugged, continuing to pick at his cuff.

"Thank you, Scorpius," she said softly, and then she crossed the hall, disappearing into her office.

Scorpius allowed his head to fall back as he let out a harsh breath. He didn't know what just happened. That hadn't been flirting, had it? "No," he said sternly with a shake of his head as he shoved away from the sill and headed toward the closest exit. Not by any stretch of the imagination had that been flirting.

_No_, he thought again. Only because of talking to her within mere minutes of that silly day dream he'd allowed himself to indulge in was he left with the feeling as though they'd been flirting.

Scorpius stuffed his fists into the pockets of his trousers as he decided to walk home, rather than simply apparating to the Manor grounds. Obviously, he needed the air to clear his head.

_Never_ again would he allow himself to imagine anything like that with her. It was all so inappropriate—putting to shame anything he'd done when he'd been purposely baiting her—that he didn't know where to begin with reprimanding himself.

* * *

Hermione felt a smidgen calmer than she had all day after speaking with Scorpius Malfoy. Strange as that seemed that a Malfoy might settle her nerves rather than rattle them.

For the briefest moment, it was difficult to recall that he was so young, he had a way about him—as he'd lounged there beside her, advising her, a woman old enough to be his mother, on how to tackle a problem.

Something in that line of thought troubled her, but she shook it off as she unfurled the scroll of parchment and at last dipped her quill into the ink bottle on her desk.

* * *

Draco's dark eyebrows shot up, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth as he read the message for the second time.

_Draco,_

_I've been thinking on what you said the last time we spoke, about talking again, sometime? I was wondering—that is if you were being serious, of course—if you'd like to get together for drinks? Tonight? Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at seven, if you're interested._

_~H. Granger_

His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he glanced toward the clock. He'd been thinking about their chat, too. More specifically, her surprised, unintended comment that they should _kiss_ again, sometime.

If he took a leisurely stroll, he'd make it for drinks by seven with a few minutes to spare. He dropped the parchment down on the end table and eyed his reflection in the gilded mirror above it. Draco combed his fingers through the thick platinum hair he was still getting used to having back as he tipped his chin side to side, examining the fine stubble around his meticulously groomed Van Dyke. Eh, he could shave tomorrow.

Besides, there was every chance Granger liked her men a little scruffy. He couldn't help grinning; honestly, after their history, he'd thought for sure he'd have to pursue her. One of the few house elves who'd remained in faithful service to them after the war scurried to open the door for him as he reached for his jacket and the walking stick he'd inherited from his father—he'd had to have a new wand fashioned just to fit the sheath.

As he crossed the foyer, he nearly collided with Scorpius. He gave his son a narrow-eyed once-over. "You're going to be home on a Friday?"

Scorpius shrugged, watching his father warily as the older Malfoy slipped on a sleek black sport coat. He couldn't recall the last time his father had gone out on a weekend evening. "I just didn't have plans for tonight. Where are you going?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but closed it immediately. He wasn't quite certain how to explain who he was meeting. _I'm meeting your professor for drinks, there might be some kissing involved. After all, that's how that _parent-teacher conference_ turned out. _Or, better still, _I _might_ be dating your teacher, not entirely certain, yet. _Yes, either way that was bound to _not_ be an awkward father-son chat._  
_

Instead, he offered a quick grin, just the slightest lifting of the corners of his mouth as he nodded toward the entrance "Out."

Without waiting for a reply, Draco stepped around Scorpius and continued through the door.

Shaking his head at the strange, stilted interaction, Scorpius continued into the parlor. As he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to the elf, a roll of parchment on one of the end tables caught his eye.

"What's that?"

The elf shrugged as he toddled away to hang up the garment. "A missive for your father, young master."

Nodding, he strolled toward the table, cautiously casting a look over his shoulder as though he expected his father to come barreling back into the Manor any moment. When he saw that even that house elf had disappeared, he faced the table again and scooped up the parchment.

As his gaze moved over the words, he felt a frown carve itself into his face. The ripple of irritated anger that tickled at the back of his mind brought him the awful, awkward realization. He'd developed an actual crush on Professor Granger. Like some puppy-eyed first year, how utterly pathetic of him.

Tossing the parchment back down, he headed for the door. He didn't bother calling for the elf to bring his jacket—the weather was pleasant, jackets were a formality. He was going to a bar. Anywhere _other_ than the Leaky Cauldron. A new place had just opened up. It was called Beer Bats, or something ridiculous like that, if he recalled correctly; rather more popular with his former classmates than the old, dank wizard pubs their parents frequented. He needed to focus on women his own age.

Women whom he hadn't practically just handed over to his own father, gift-wrapped.


End file.
